


Ante Up #1

by voleuse



Series: Ante Up [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-02
Updated: 2004-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:50:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At least one of them is bluffing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ante Up #1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after "Halloween."

_i. Pair_

The vampire formerly known as Angelus is pinned under the frail weight of the slayer, and from Spike's vantage point, it seems like Angelus is actually enjoying it.

He is, of course, lurking under a tree in the slayer's front yard, looking up into her bedroom window, so it's possible that he's not catching everything. It's clear, however, that Angelus (_Angel_, he reminds himself) has a soft spot for the girl.

Through the open window, he catches a low growl that he recognizes, and smirks. _Maybe not so soft._

He watches them snog, fully clothed, for an hour, and he marvels at Angel's restraint.

_ii. Two Pair_

It's not yet dawn when Angel breaks away from the girl, and Spike tilts his head to catch the sound of their harsh panting.

"I should go," Angel mutters, his monotone barely audible across the lawn.

The slayer nods, and Spike admires the flush of her cheeks, her swollen lips. If he were Angel--

Then he ducks away, leaping a hedge into the next yard as Angel slips out the window, jumps down to the lawn, and walks briskly down the street.

Spike crouches, waiting until he can be sure Angel is gone. Then, out of curiosity, he returns to his spot by the tree and looks up into the slayer's room.

And, out of habit, he catches his breath.

_iii. Three of a Kind_

She's standing by the window, leaning against the frame, gazing off in the direction that Angel had gone. One of her arms is propped against the sill, and she rests her forehead against it.

Her other arm, however, is otherwise engaged, and Spike watches, fascinated, as her hand slips under the waistband of her sweatpants. He can see the outline of her fingers as they slip between her legs, and her resultant moan is low, long, and sweet.

His body responds to the sound, and he considers returning to the factory, to Drusilla. But not yet.

Not yet.

He watches.

_iv. Straight_

It's a scant few minutes before the slayer shudders and clutches the window's frame, biting her lip. Spike expects that to be the end of it, but instead she sighs, and continues.

He presses his body against the trunk of the tree, and automatically seeking some sort of friction, runs his palm down his torso, down to the front of his jeans, and presses against his cock. His eyes slide shut, and he quietly groans.

Or so he thought, because when he returns his attention to the slayer's window, she's looking directly at him, and her expression is murderous.

_Bugger._

_v. Flush_

She's out of the window, over the roof, and down to the lawn in a flash, fast enough that he's impressed. He looks her over, notes her lack of weapons, and smirks. "Slayer."

"Spike." She's fallen automatically into a fighting stance, her fist drawn back as if she had a stake in hand. "What the hell are you doing?"

He leans back against the tree, pushes his hips forward so that she notices the state he's in, and leers. "I could ask you the same thing, pet."

Her face reddens and she strikes at him, but he expects the punch and steps sideways. She hits the tree and her fist splinters the bark.

_vi. Full House_

She winces, and he strikes before she recovers from it. Catching her wrist, he swings her around and slams her against the tree, pinning her body with his.

"Let go of me!" She bucks against him, but she's stuck.

"I have to say," he says, ignoring her struggles, "you looked lovely in the fancy dress, but I like you better like this."

At that, she stills. Looks at him suspiciously. "You do?"

"More fight in you now," he purrs. He draws her injured hand to his face and inspects the damage. Her knuckles are scraped raw, and blood is welling up between them. His tongue darts out, and he licks the blood slowly off her hand.

She whimpers.

_vii. Four of a Kind_

"Like that, don't you, pet?" He murmurs it against her hand, and feels her hips shift in response.

He turns her hand and laves her palm just as slowly, and she isn't able to suppress her moan.

"I can't believe he left you like this." Spike pushes his hips against hers. "Back in the day, I could hardly leave Angelus alone with--"

She twists her body abruptly, then, and Spike stumbles back. Trips on a root, and falls.

_viii. Straight Flush_

She's straddled him in an instant, and she pins his hands above his head, momentarily immobilizing him.

"Don't you ever," she hisses, "talk about Angel." She tightens her grip on his wrists, and the bones grind together, punctuating her words. "Ever."

"Point taken, love." He arches his body, slides his still-hardened cock against her thigh. Her head falls, and he chuckles as her grip loosens on his wrists. He takes advantage, rolling so that their positions are reversed, and then he thrusts against her again. "I won't mention his name if you don't."

"Let me up," she protests, but one of her feet trails up his leg, and she shifts her body so that her legs cradle his.

He pumps his hips once, twice, and watches her eyes spark with hate, and her lips fall open to moan. "Of course, pet." Twice again. "If that's what you want."

She shakes her head, and he grins.

_ix. Royal Flush_

He doesn't let go of her wrists, but uses one hand to pin them above her hand, bracing his other arm against the ground. Her scent envelops him, and he fights the desire to shift into his other face, knowing it will just remind her that she's supposed to kill him.

This, he thinks, is sweeter, if only because it would drive Angelus crazy.

He rocks steadily against her, wishes he could get more friction, yank off the ridiculous trousers she's wearing, shove down his jeans and into her, but he knows he shouldn't let go of her wrists, and he can feel the impending sunrise, quickening his blood.

The slayer writhes beneath him, and her breath comes in jagged whimpers, now. She's so very close and, he realizes, so is he.

At that, he releases her, springing up from the ground and away from her in a second. She snarls, bereft, and he laughs aloud.

"A pretty picture," he muses, scanning her legs, spread wide, and the dampened cloth between them. Her hair is tousled, and her skin is flushed. "But it's time I'm off."

"Fuck you," she growls, but her voice trembles.

He only smiles and turns his back, but not before he sees her hand, yet again, slipping beneath her waistband.


End file.
